Riding the Rap
by E. Beckham
Summary: In the first story, Raylan Givens and his friend Mike Graves play mailbox baseball and are caught in the act. Based on the story Raylan tells Loretta from Season 5, episode 2, "The Kids Aren't All Right." Next, when Raylan and Dickie Bennett face off, each ends up in pain. Based on story told by Raylan in Season 2, episode 8 "The Spoil". Warning: Spankings of teenager.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Raylan Givens and his friend Mike Graves play mailbox baseball and are caught in the act. Based on the story Raylan tells Loretta from Season 5, episode 2, "The Kids Aren't All Right."

 **Warning:** This story contains the disciplinary spanking of a teenager. Don't read it if the idea offends you.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the _Justified_ characters.

 **Riding the Rap**

As the breeze billowed through the open windows of the Impala, Raylan took his first satisfying breath of the day. The cool, rushing air and music blasting helped settle his wandering thoughts.

Mike Graves continued to tell his story, laughing, and turning to look at Raylan, who smiled back. Mike was always good for a laugh and a few beers. They had just won a tough game against Bennett County High.

"Alright, Givens, time for some practice. You were a bit rusty out there tonight."

"The Hell you say! Tonight was my best game of the season!"

"Well…" Mike said slowly, "practice is how you're gonna keep improving!" He reached over the seat, grabbed a bat and handed it to Raylan.

"The bases are loaded, Givens. Bennett's pitching is all over the place. How are you gonna handle this next ball?"

Raylan sat starring at the bat in his hands. Mailbox baseball. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't want to play. His mood had been sullen since that morning when Arlo had thrown a glass of milk at his mother's head. He had better ideas of how to use this bat.

"Come on, now! Get in position," Mike coaxed, pushing his friend's arm for encouragement.

"Fine," murmured Raylan as he leaned out the car window and readied himself to take a swing. Here it comes, Mr. Johnson's mailbox, Raylan thought. Never taking his eyes off his target, he swung the bat with such force that the mailbox flew from its perch.

"Whoa! Go again!" exclaimed Mike, excitement building in his voice.

Around the bend, the Bickerstaffs' mailbox came into view. Sorry, Raylan whispered as he took aim. The wooden box shattered on impact.

"Woo hoo! One more, boy! Do it!"

The distance between houses was getting longer, giving Raylan more time to think. Maybe he could fix those mailboxes without getting caught. Just one more and that would be enough.

"Mike, don't go down this road. I don't want to pass Cawood Ledford's place. He has ears like a bat and they say his rifle's always loaded."

"Don't be a wuss, Givens! That old bastard deserves it more than anyone! He's the one that told my dad about me racing Frank Tuppers."

"No way. I'm not doing your dirty work! You can do it. I'll drive." Without a word, Mike pulled the Impala to the side of the road. Raylan got out of the car and walked around the front. Mike passed him and smiled, any argument or annoyance gone from him.

While Raylan steered the car back onto the road, Mike got himself in place, the bat hovering near his right shoulder. Raylan concentrated on positioning the car so that Mike could hit his target. After this, he thought, I'm going home… or to Aunt Helen's. Her house was his frequent shelter when life with his father got to be too tough.

With the mailbox in sight, Mike prepared to take his swing. The hit was strong, but so was the box, which stayed mounted in place.

"Damn," said Mike, sliding back inside the car. "I almost had it. Second chance?"

"Boy, did you wake up stupid this morning? Ledford's grabbing his rifle as we speak. I wouldn't be caught anywhere near his place."

They drove down the long country roads in silence, making their way back to town. A car approached quickly from the opposite direction. Raylan held his breath hoping it wasn't a police car. As it passed, suddenly, blue flashing lights were blazing. Raylan slapped the steering wheel, as the deputy's car u-turned and pulled up behind the Impala.

"Oh shit," muttered Mike.

Deputy Maithers sauntered up to the window. Raylan sat in furious silence and Mike looked as though he might be sick.

"You boys have been busy tonight. Turn the car off, Givens, and get out. You, too, Graves."

"Any chance you can let this slide, sir?" Raylan asked hopefully. "We've learned our lesson. We'll go apologize and fix the mailboxes first thing tomorrow."

"No doubt you will, but no free passes tonight. You're gonna wait in a cell until your daddies come to get you. Come on now, let's go." After a moment, "Move, boys!"

With that, both boys hurried out of the Impala and crawled into the back of the patrol car.

The boys exchanged looks. Raylan's expression was grim. He had the hot, giddy feeling of being in serious trouble, like just before a whipping. Then he noticed that Mike was shaking. He whispered, "You ok?"

Mike shook his head, murmuring, "My dad'll show up with a belt."

Raylan nodded, understanding. He had no idea how Arlo would react, but he knew what his father was capable of and that was worth worrying about. He turned to watch the dark sky and hills go by. Why did he let Mike talk him into this? Better question: why was he bothering to blame anyone but himself? How could he be so stupid? Aunt Helen always said that a hard head led to a sore behind. Oh crap, Raylan nearly said aloud. Aunt Helen would skin him alive. Now he felt sicker than he'd imagined possible.


	2. Chapter 2

After the phone calls had been made, Deputy Maithers escorted the boys to an empty holding cell. The harsh light made everything about the place seem stark, unreal, and ugly.

Mike jumped and said quietly, "Raylan, did we leave any beers in the car?" The boy looked like he might not survive to see seventeen or even the next ten minutes.

"No, they were gone."

"Thank you, Jesus! That would've been just my luck." Mike rested his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. "When Ledford told my daddy about the racing, he tanned my hide and threatened to never let me drive again. What's your daddy gonna do?"

Raylan shrugged a shoulder, "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe the belt… or maybe a beer, who knows? Aunt Helen, though. Maybe, if prayer works, she won't hear about it."

Mike chuckled. They both knew that the entire town would know about their mischief by breakfast tomorrow.

"Oh, no…. Coach…." Mike said. Raylan understood his meaning. Coach Whitfield was just another person in the ever-growing list of people he'd have to apologize to before he could put this incident behind him.

The boys sat waiting, their nervousness growing exponentially. Within an hour, heavy footsteps could be heard in the hallway. Mike paled and looked as though he might throw up. Raylan's expression gave away little about his inner turmoil. Mr. Graves made his way down the hall and stopped in front of the cell. He crossed his muscular arms and waited.

Mike stood. "I'm sorry, Daddy. It was a stupid thing to do. I'll never do anything like it again. I'm _really_ sorry."

Raylan stood up abruptly too. "I'm sorry, too, Mr. Graves. Mike and I were just saying that we would repair all the damage we've caused."

Quickly, his friend agreed, "Yes, and we'll apologize to each family."

Mr. Graves stood silently assessing the boys. "That's a good plan, boys. Although I think Mr. Ledford might shoot you on sight."

Hearing this attempt at humor, the boys relaxed somewhat.

"Of course," Mr. Graves said, looking at his son, "you know I gotta whup you a bit, right?"

Mike looked down, but said, "Yessir."

"And no more car until I can trust you again. I figure that'll be right around the time you turn 35."

Both boys laughed. Mike's dad had always been quick to find the humor in a situation.

A deputy unlocked the door and swung it open for Mike. Mr. Graves looked at Raylan and said to the officer, "Have you gotten a hold of Arlo yet?"

The deputy gave the man a loaded look. "He said the boy had to ride the rap."

"Hmmm, I'll go check on that before I head home. VFW?"

"Correct in one."

"Raylan," said Mr. Graves sternly, "I am disappointed. I thought you had more sense. You tell Arlo that I'll be picking you up at 9 am, so you can get started on those apologies and repairs, you hear?"

"Yessir. I am sorry too, sir. Thank you."

As the Graves left, Raylan settled in for a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't all bad. Deputy Maithers let him borrow George Higgins' _The Friends of Eddie Coyle_ , and Mrs. Maithers made him supper.

By the morning, he had finished the book. After a breakfast of biscuits, eggs, bacon and grits, Deputy Maithers called him out of his cell, which was no longer locked and stood ajar.

"Raylan, come here!" The boy moved quickly down the hall and to the man's desk.

"Yessir?"

"Well, your stay with us has come to an end. If we ever have the pleasure of your company again, I will make you cut a switch myself. Do you understand?"

"Um, yessir. Thank you for the book and the food. Please tell your wife it was delicious." The boy handed the book over to the officer.

"You keep it. I'm never going to get to it. _And_ , come tell her yourself, Raylan. She'll want to see you. Drop by any time tomorrow."

"Yessir, I will." Raylan got the feeling that people were intending to keep an eye on him.

"And, one more thing, son. Arlo's outside."

Raylan's stomach dropped. He nodded and turned to leave. Best get this over with.


	4. Chapter 4

His father stood leaning against his banged-up pickup truck. As Raylan slowly approached, the boy watched for any indicator of impending violence. Arlo appeared passive, so Raylan walked to the passenger door of the truck and climbed inside. His father followed suit wordlessly. Raylan wasn't certain whether he should apologize, so he remained silent.

They made their way back to the house. As the truck pulled up the steep driveway, Raylan's aunt and mother hurried out onto the porch. Aunt Helen was furious and held a hickory switch in her hand, while his mother simply looked sad. Raylan hated both reactions. Causing these women pain ate at him and he silently berated himself.

Helen marched toward him, clearly intending to flay him. However, Arlo stepped between them and put his hand up to stop her further progress. "Helen, I'm gonna take care of the boy. One thrashing's enough." His words were firm and she lowered her arm.

"Fine," she said and turned to Raylan, "But I will speak to you afterwards. If your seat hasn't been properly warmed, I'll take care of you myself. And, if you even _think_ about repeating such a _foolish_ stunt, _Jesus_ himself won't be able to _save you_ from _me._ Do you understand me, Raylan Givens?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his eyes on the ground.

"Come on, boy," Arlo said quietly. He took his son's arm rather gently and guided him down the path toward the woodshed. Raylan was surprised by Arlo's manner. His father's anger was monstrous and unpredictable, but now the man merely seemed resigned. Once they arrived, Arlo did not open the door. He released Raylan's arm and said, "Drop your pants and grab the sill."

Raylan turned away from his father, feeling bile rise in his throat and his head buzzing. His face felt hot as he tried to make his mind blank. He undid his belt and the button on his jeans, pulled the zipper down with a trembling hand, and pushed his jeans to his knees. Once Raylan had bent over and grasped the shed's windowsill, he heard the flutter of Arlo's belt being pulled through the loops. A familiar, but paralyzing sound, like the rattle of a snake.

"How old are you, son?"

"Sixteen."

With that, his sentence was handed down. Arlo swung the belt back up over his shoulder, then slashed it across Raylan's bare legs and whipped it backhanded across his behind. Tears of pain, humiliation, and fury immediately spilled down the boy's cheeks. Back and forth, whipping, burning, whipping, burning. The belt hummed through air, slapped, hummed. Slapped. Raylan attempted to be stoic and make no noise, but he could not prevent the ragged intakes of breath or whimpers from escaping. Inwardly he counted the strokes. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen, which caught his right leg low just above his knee. He hissed and gritted his teeth harder. Jesus, please, help me, the boy begged. Fourteen. Hum, slash; hum, slash.

Although he could tell his father was finished, Raylan remained in place. He tried desperately to calm himself. He hated that he'd cried.

"Well, now," his father said in a low voice, "let's get a move on. Your momma will want to inspect the damage. And you better hope Helen believes I did my job, or you'll get a sampling of that hickory too." Arlo seemed to be trying to break the tension, which further confused the boy.

Raylan reached down and gently pulled his pants into place. Once he was redressed, he walked with his father slowly back to the house.


	5. Chapter 5

The ladies were waiting on the porch for Raylan and his father to return. Although Aunt Helen was still visibly angry, she set her switch down when she saw her nephew's face. His mother stood up and made a small gesture to move toward him, but stopped when he stopped walking.

"I just want to say…." Raylan felt another surge of humiliation as his voice hitched, giving away his tears. He swiped angrily at his eyes and cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he said to the ground. "It won't happen again."

Helen stepped down from the porch and walked over to him. He had a moment's nervousness until she wrapped her arms around him. "You make sure it doesn't," she stated firmly. "Or, _I'll_ make sure. You have a big future ahead of you, but only if you stay out of trouble."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

Helen released him from her hug and held him at an arm's length, examining his face. "You'll be okay," she declared.

She patted his arm and walked to her car. Raylan watched her go and then trudged over to where his mother stood on the porch. "I'm sorry, momma."

"This too shall pass," Frances said quietly. "I trust you've gotten that foolishness out of your system. If you didn't, you'll answer to your daddy, Helen, and me." She reached over and attempted to tidy his mussed hair.

"Yes, ma'am. I did."

A truck pulled into the driveway. They turned to see Mr. Graves and Mike in the cab. Mike was about to open the door when his father stopped him. Mr. Graves had noticed the belt in Arlo's hand and intimate body language between mother and son. He did not wish to intrude on this moment.

"Oh," Raylan explained, "Mr. Graves is taking us to apologize to the Johnsons, the Bickerstaffs, and Mr. Ledford. We're gonna fix their mailboxes for them too."

"Now, that's an excellent idea. I'll make some burgoo for you boys for lunch. You be sure to invite all those families to come too," his mother said, smiling. She knew the stew was one of Raylan's favorite meals.

He perked up. "Thanks, momma. Well, I should go." Raylan headed for pickup and Mike got out to join him in the truck bed.

"Bye then," his mother called.

"Bye," replied the boys, as they hopped into the back of the truck. Raylan was a bit self-conscious of his stiff movements and winced when he sat down. He looked over at his friend, who said, "Yeah, that was me last night." Then Mike added with an unembarrassed whoop, " _I got my butt cut!_ "

As Mr. Graves pulled the truck around, he called through the open window, "Well, Arlo, you reckon' we can keep these boys outta trouble?"

"If this is the worst of it, they must be aimin' for sainthood," Arlo stated flatly. He waved goodbye and went inside to eat breakfast.


	6. Chapter 6

Dickie's brushback pitch missed Raylan's head by inches. The teen threw himself backwards just in time. Within seconds he was on his feet, charging the mound. Both benches cleared and a melee ensued. After Dickie delivered a well-placed kick, Raylan grabbed a bat and slammed it into his opponent's left knee. The resulting sound was enough to stop everyone in their tracks. Dickie writhed on the ground, screaming. His leg bent sideways at an awkward angle. Raylan stood staring, the bat still in his hand.

Quickly, the coaches and some deputies pulled the players apart. Athletic trainers surrounded Dickie as they tried to assess the damage and give aid. Raylan stood watching the commotion when suddenly strong hands grabbed the back of his uniform, pivoted him easily, and began marching him off the field. In his dazed state, he almost didn't recognize Deputy Maithers.

"In all my years, I have never seen a more pathetic example of sportsmanship than I witnessed here tonight. Boy, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Raylan gaped.

" _Speak_!" the deputy growled. He was moving so quickly that they were already off the field and halfway through the parking area. "You may have disfigured that Bennett boy! What if he can't walk again? What's your excuse? He pitched a ball that _**nearly**_ hit you?"

"He…he kicked me too," Raylan stammered, sounding dumb even to himself.

"Jesus Christ!" the officer whispered.

When they reached the patrol car, the man shoved Raylan toward the backseat and demanded, "Get in."


	7. Chapter 7

Once they were parked in front of the station, Raylan had a hard time remaining calm. Two months earlier, he'd been held overnight for smashing mailboxes. The consequences had been painful, and he had no wish to relive the experience.

Finally, the boy found his voice. "Am I under arrest?"

"Hell no," stated the deputy firmly. He slammed his car door, opened Raylan's and gestured for him to get out of the vehicle. They walked through the lobby and past desks. There was a room with a window and nothing but filing cabinets. Raylan stopped when they reached the back door.

"Go on, boy. Out we go." Raylan looked confused, but pushed the door open and walked outside. The station backed up to a hilly forest. The setting sun turned the sky orange with smudges of red.

"Here," Deputy Maithers offered an item to the boy. Raylan took the object and realized it was a pocketknife. "Go on. You know why we're here."

"No, sir. I don—" Raylan froze. Understanding dawned on him. "You want me to cut a switch?"

"I keep my word."

"When I took Dickie down, it was to stop him from putting his cleat to my head. Does that change anything?"

"I saw you, standing there with that bat, knock his leg from underneath him. Correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, if you were standing and he was standing, then you'd already evaded that attack. But that didn't stop you swinging, did it?"

"No, sir, it didn't." With that Raylan turned and walked to a hickory tree with low hanging branches. He opened the blade, selected a young but sturdy limb and sliced it off. Then he cleaned off the sprigs coming out of the branch. He tested it twice and handed it to Deputy Maithers.

"A good selection. Not your first rodeo, I guess."

"No, sir." Raylan waited for further instruction.

"Drop those pants and lean over this picnic table."

The teenager obeyed immediately, pushing his pants down and bending over the wooden top, grabbing either side of the table.

Deputy Maithers did not keep him in suspense. Raylan resolved not to cry out. Even as the keen switch cut into his bare backside and thighs, he made no sound; however, he could not help flinching. He tried to pretend that he was elsewhere and that this punishment was not really happening to him.

The switch must have fallen a dozen times, but it felt as though the boy's legs and behind were on fire with thousands of bee stings. Finally, he felt a hand pat his left shoulder.

"We're done here."

"Thank you, sir."

"Did you just thank me for beating your ass?"

"No, sir," Raylan said wryly, "For bein' done."

The deputy chortled. Once he was quiet again, he asked, "Do you understand why I gave you this hiding?"

"I think so. I took a cheap shot and you think I should have backed down."

"Partly. I ain't sayin' you gotta back down. You don't have to give up during a fair fight. But that one wasn't fair. A baseball bat! And now that boy could be lame forever? Does that seem worth it?"

Raylan took a deep breath. He saw the man's point.

Deputy Maither's voice got bolder, "That boy's in surgery right now. What if it'd been you on the receiving end of that bat? Where would you rather be? In Lexington, finding out if you're ever gonna walk again? Or, here, getting your ass whipped?"

"Here, sir."

"Raylan, this town has a long memory. As long as you are here, some people are gonna see Arlo and his shady dealings when they see you. Some of them will want you to follow in your daddy's footsteps. You see that, don't you?"

The teen nodded and looked away.

"But there are lots of us that can see your worth. You got lots going for you: brains, baseball, and a good heart. I know how you've helped your momma. You ain't turned hard and mean like so many that have faced similar challenges. I will not let you turn now. Do you understand?"

Feeling overwhelmed by the officer's observations, Raylan found himself unable to respond. His head was bent so the man would not see his wet eyes or runny nose.

It hardly mattered, because moments later Deputy Maithers hugged the boy. "Kid, you're gonna do great things in this world. I can't wait to find out what."


End file.
